


High as Hope

by kallistob



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Speakeasies, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 04:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: Graves laughs, charmed, and holds out his hand. “Percival Graves. I’ll spare you the list of my official titles for today, and you can call me Percival.” He arches his brow and points at the case resting in front of the other man. "I hope you don't have anything illegal in that."“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I keep in that, ” the stranger replies with a slow smile. “My name is Newton. Newt for short.”





	High as Hope

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Newt arrives one day earlier to NY, which gives him time to get settled. That evening he decides that he'd like some company as well, and goes to the first speakeasy he can find. The handsome man at the bar might just make his night. I then imagine that the very next day we pick up canon where we left off - the niffler escapes, Newt gets arrested, etc. 
> 
> Anyhoo. This is a purely self-indulgent fic that I wrote quickly - I wanted to try writing some soft smut for once. Thank you to @qed221b for betaing the fic, and I hope you enjoy it <3

Percival doesn’t do this. Usually.

He is not the type of man to seek out speakeasies when he feels lonely. He is not the type of man to drown his sorrows in scotch after a particularly harsh day at work. And yet, here and now, that’s exactly what he is doing.

The speakeasy isn’t crowded; it’s only the beginning of the week. People neither have the time nor the inclination to seek such mindless pleasures on a Tuesday. The quiet energy of it feels soothing, for him, compared to the hustle of everyday life at MACUSA - the screams and cries and barks of laughter. The constant challenges, the neverending paperwork, not to mention Picquery’s orders ringing in his ears.

He is not allowed to disappoint his President. But, these days, with the unexplained attacks all over New York - it seems disappointing her is all he can do.

Percival knocks back his glass of whiskey and looks around. His original purpose for going out was to seek company. Can’t very well stay brooding in the dark all night, can he?

He's not entirely decided on how he wants the evening to go. He just knows that he doesn’t wish to spend it alone.

Now, who could he strike a conversation with?

There’s a group of three men, playing cards and laughing to his left. Ugh. He doesn’t have the energy to be _that_ sociable.

Leaning against a pillar is a potentially lonely witch who he could entertain for the night. She’s dressed prettily, her dress shimmering and she’s - ah. Not so lonely after all. There’s a man with her. Could be her beau, could be her brother. Could be none. Either way, she’s not an option.

Unfortunately, with those options ruled out, he isn't left many other choices at all. In fact, he's just about ready to call it a night and leave, when there’s a flurry of movement and bright colors to his right. Suddenly the stool next to his is occupied by a stranger. A rather dishevelled looking stranger. He looks like he’s run the whole way here, as if he was afraid his seat was going to be stolen. His cheeks are flushed pink, his hair mussed in every directions. It's quite charming.

The wizard slams his suitcase on the bar in front of him and pulls off his coat to throw it on the luggage.

His clothes are a bit ill-fitting, perhaps, but - tight enough that Graves can see the shift of sturdy, solid muscles underneath as he undresses. He is lean. Fit. Graves lets his eyes roam and oh, yes - that ass and those long legs are definitely worth his time.

The man rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms, dusted in constellations of dark freckles. His tie follows. Graves glimpses a white scar over his collarbone, one he now itches to properly look at. He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not staring, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind. Graves doesn't know if he's aware of the effect he has on him, if he's aware that he's piqued Graves’ interest quite thoroughly. He intends to let him know. Perhaps this night will turn out to be a good one after all.

Not one to stall once settled on a course of action, Graves snaps his fingers to get the bartender’s attention and turns to face the newcomer. “Can I buy you a drink?”

The stranger seems surprised at being addressed, but he smiles and nods. “Sure. Butterbeer for me, please.”

“You’re English,” Graves says with surprise. “What brings you to New York?”

“I’m here on business, actually,” the man replies matter-of-factly. He finally sits down, and angles his body towards Graves, mimicking his posture. This time, Percival finds himself on the receiving end of an appreciative once over. The other man takes him in from head to toe, and shifts closer. “You’re from MACUSA.”

“What gave it away?” Graves asks. The drinks he ordered slide down the bar, settling at his elbow. Percival smiles and hands the stranger his pint of butterbeer.

“I’ve seen your face in the papers. Even overseas, you’re quite well-known.”

“Is that so,” Graves hums. “Then I don’t need to introduce myself to you, do I?”

“Technically, no, you don’t.” Newt smirks. “But it’s the polite thing to do, _Mr. Graves.”_

Graves laughs, charmed, and holds out his hand. “Percival Graves. I’ll spare you the list of my official titles for today, and you can call me Percival.” He arches his brow and points at the case resting in front of the other man. "I hope you don't have anything illegal in that."

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I keep in that, ” He replies with a slow smile. “My name is Newton. Newt for short.”

“Good. Then don’t tell me. Even if you did have something crazy, let’s say… A nundu,” Graves laughs, “I wouldn’t want to know. I’m off duty tonight!”

Newt knocks back the rest of his drink so quickly Graves fears he'll hurt himself. “Yes, indeed,” He finally chokes out. “And what is the Director of Magical Security doing here? At this hour?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“You’re eluding the question.”

“Not really. I’m just curious about you. When did you arrive to New York?”

“This morning, by boat. I’ve had plenty of time to settle down already.”

“And you decided to carry on dragging your luggage around rather than leaving it at - where are you staying?”

“The Plaza Hostel,” Newt says, sliding his index finger along the rim of his glass. “I carry this case everywhere I go, Percival. My whole life’s inside - I don’t want it to get stolen or lost. That happened once. I learned to be very, very careful.”

“I can understand that.” Graves nods, respectful. He straightens up and nods at Newt’s drink.  “May I try it? I’ve heard a lot about Butterbeer. Never tried myself. To be honest I'm surprised they even have some in this bar.”

“Oh, sure.”

Graves takes a long swallow of the unfamiliar beverage, and groans when it warms him down to his toes.

“Good?” Newt asks.

“Well the taste leaves something to be desired, but God - if I drink any more of this now I might actually start stripping out of my clothes right here. What do they put in there, a liquid warming charm? Merlin, this is strong.”

“It does take some getting used to, “ Newt agrees. “But feel free to finish it. I assure you that I will not complain if you start stripping.”

“No?” Graves enquiries.

“Oh, no. Quite the contrary,” Newt says, smirking.  

“Good. I'm glad we seem to be on the same page, Mr. Scamander.”

* * *

 

The night flows very easily after that.

Graves finds in Newt a conversation partner with wit, a certain stubbornness on subjects of which he believes himself to be in the right on (like Rappaport’s Law or magical creatures’ rights), as well as a sense of humor to match his own. He cannot remember the last time he laughed so hard; nor can he remember the last time he was so certain that he wanted to bed someone.

As the night goes on and more drinks are consumed, he only finds Newt more attractive. Newt doesn't help : he keeps unbuttoning his shirt, complaining about the heat, to the point where it reaches the edge of complete indecency. He nibbles and licks his lips _constantly_ , drawing Graves’ attention to them. When Graves starts touching him to make his intentions clears (a hand on his forearm, and, later, over his knee), when he leans closer, Newt's pupils blow wide with lust and his breathing quickens.

He wants _this,_ just as much as Graves does.

Graves pays for all their drinks. Newt doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s close to midnight when they both decide they’ve had enough. They leave the speakeasy, unsteady on their feet, but with desire singing through their veins. Graves apparates the both of them to his flat and it takes him three tries to unlock the door - namely because Newt has decided that this was the perfect time to tug on Graves’ collar, expose his neck and start nibbling at it. He chuckles when Graves swears, the kisses sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

As soon as the door closes, they’re all over each other.

Newt is rough with his kisses, preferring bites and licks to slow exploration. Graves doesn’t mind - he responds in kind, wrapping his hands around Newt’s waist to feel the shape of his body beneath his clothes. He works a hand beneath his shirt before sliding lower - gripping him by the hips and lifting, using his body to pin him against the hard oak door. Newt makes a noise of delighted surprise in his mouth, absolutely seduced by the display of strength.

“Come on,” Graves says, “Come on -”

“What do you want?” Newt asks huskily, threading his fingers through Graves’ hair, disheveling it.

Graves thinks about it. “Everything,” he manages to say, legs trembling with the effort of holding Newt up.

“Okay,” Newt says. “Because right now, sucking you off sounds like a marvellous idea.”

Graves laughs and hides his face against Newt’s chest. “ _Shit._ Newt, you’re gonna kill me.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck. Yeah, it is. Come on.”

They all but run to the bedroom.

* * *

 

Newt keeps his promise. He blows Graves with surprising skill, until the older man is a twitching, begging mess on the bed. Graves has to physically pull him off his cock in order to get him to stop, and his partner pouts at him, lips red and glistening with saliva.

“Fucking hell… Come up here.”

Newt prowls above him with a very smug smile and all the grace of a cat. He’s naked, his body littered in scars and covered in sparse, thin red hair. They kiss until Graves’ hands reach the man’s entrance and start playing with him; then Newt can only pant and whine into his mouth as he’s slowly, slowly opened up. Graves soothes him, stroking his hair as Newt adjusts to the intrusion.

* * *

 

A third finger is added. Newt sucks a bruise onto Graves’ collarbone to hold on, and reclines back on the bed, grabbing Graves’ wrist. “Enough,” he says, his voice already a fucked out wreck. The sound of it sends a stab of lust straight to Graves’ cock. “I want to ride you, Percival, and then I want you to fuck me deep and hard until you fucking come inside me.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Graves repeats, struck dumb with lust. “Anything you want, baby - anything you want.”

Newt takes him slowly in, breathing deeply, his eyes closed. Little whimpers escape him - Graves is of significant size - until he is fully seated on the man's cock. He throws back his head as he starts moving, and Graves praises him, adoring.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Taking me so well. You’re so good, Newt.”

“Oh, god,” Newt gasps as he starts to move faster, “God - you - you feel so fucking _good -”_

Newt’s curls stick to his forehead, his brows furrowed in concentration as he rises up and then slams back down on Graves’ cock, trying to find the perfect angle -

“Shit, _shit,_ yeah, yeah. There. Fuck me, please. _Graves._ Oh- fuck...”

With a low growl, Graves flips them over. Pins Newt’s hands above his head in a tight grip as Newt writhes in pleasure. He fucks Newt as he’s asked, hard and deep, angling his thrusts to piston that spot inside the younger man that makes him lose all manners and coherency.

He wraps his hand around Newt’s cock when he feels himself getting close to orgasm, fucks and strokes Newt quickly, roughly until Newt comes with a broken sob, and keeps fucking him through it. He slows down when Newt whimpers in protest, oversensitive.

Graves leans over his body to kiss him.

“You alright?” He murmurs, still rolling his hips slowly. “Do you want me to go on?”

“Yeah,” Newt breathes, opening his eyes and smiling. He cups Graves’ cheek in his hand and Graves turns his head to kiss his palm. “You close?”

“Yes,” Graves promises him. “You feel so good, it’s incredible.”

Newt hums in languid satisfaction. He hooks his hands under his knees and lifts his legs up, encouraging Graves to go deeper. The man swears at the erotic image and resumes his thrusts, slowly picking up speed again, reaching the edge in no time. Newt is a mess, a _mess_ \- crying out each time Graves fills him completely, still asking for more, deeper, _harder_. Their bodies are slick with sweat. The bedsheets are no doubt ruined. Graves doesn’t give a fuck; he keeps kissing Newt, marking him with love bites on his neck, his throat, his chest. He comes with Newt’s name on his tongue, and Newt holds him as the wave of deep ecstasy recedes progressively, until he is limp and useless in Newt’s arms.  

Newt gently kisses his brow.

“Am I crushing you?” Graves asks after a short while, when his brain can finally align two thoughts together.  

“Might be.”

“Shit. Sorry. Let me just…” Graves rises on his hands and knees, his cock slipping out of Newt’s body. He can’t help but look at Newt’s asshole, reddened, leaking some of Graves’ come. It’s a nice view, one that fills Graves with a primal, raw satisfaction.

Newt cleans the both of them up with a few spells and rearranges the bed. “C’me here,” he says when they are presentable again. Graves goes. They lie on their sides, the older man spooning his lover from behind.

Graves can’t stop smiling. He's not used to it. If people at work saw him they'd probably be scared.

“How long are you staying in New York?” He asks Newt, hopeful.

“I don’t know,” Newt says truthfully. “I intended to make it a short trip, but…”

“But?” Graves prompts.

Newt looks at him above his shoulder with a shy smile. “I think a certain Director of Magical Security might just make me change my mind.”

Graves grins and kisses him.

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated but not required. Thank you so much for reading <3


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